One Night In Paris
by FrannyLuvsAll
Summary: Tag to S7E13 "Jet Lag" based off my head canon for "Paris changed her." Obviously TIVA. ONE SHOT.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS. **_**OBVIOUSLY.**_

**This story is the fault of two pictures that have been circulating on tumblr today: one, a close-up of Ziva from TorC, and the other a NSFW photo of two people who happen to look an awful lot like Tony and Ziva in a rather intimate position. I have never written anything M-rated, so please don't judge me. This is what happens when I'm trying to avoid real-life things, mostly work. **

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He will remember the smell of her skin. He will remember the taste of her mouth. He will remember the curve of her neck, the shape of her breasts, and the dip to her hipbones. He will remember the feel of her hair as it brushes his shoulders. He will remember what it's like to see her, every inch of her. He will remember her laugh, how she giggles when he pinches her sides. He will remember her smile, shy and secretive. He will remember showing up at her door with wine and a sly grin. He will remember how it felt to reach for her in the night, and have her reach for him in return. He will remember waking up next to her, watching her sleep. He will remember her breath warm on his neck as she whispers _please, baby_ in his ear.

Because memories are all he has the summer he believes she's died. He cannot mourn. He cannot grieve. He can only remember, only relive. And when he has nothing left, when he has finally given up, he does the only thing he can. He seeks vengeance.

He doesn't expect to find her.

* * *

"We've stayed in worse," he remarks, nodding his head in approval of the room as he holds the door open. She passes by him through the doorway, dragging her luggage in tow. His brow furrows slightly as her coat brushes his arm. He has to control the urge to reach out to her, as his fingers flex slightly at his side. He winces to himself, unsure of why this feeling has come back to him as strongly recently. They've spent little time together outside the office since her return this summer. The past few months have been difficult at best, trying to find their groove again. She is cautious, holds herself with a fragile rigidity that causes anger to fester inside him. There are times when he looks at her and sees her face from the desert, battered and bloody, lips cracked from dehydration, eyes strained in disbelief and doubt. He wants her to be strong and whole, wants it for himself too. A part of her died in that camp, and for the past few months he's tried not to believe that a part of him died there with her.

"It will do," her delivery matter-of-fact. "I am assuming this is a put-out," she says as she points to the couch.

"Pull-out," he corrects with a shake of his head. "And yes, I would assume that. Although, you should never assume, Ziva. It makes an ass of you and me." He grins at her, as he hangs his coat in the closet, reaching a hand out to take hers as well.

"I have actually heard that one before!" She snaps her fingers in the air and he can't help but laugh at her surprised victory. "So, shall we flip for the bed, then?"

He groans and turns to her, "can't we just agree that it's my turn to take the bed? I am senior field agent."

Ziva crosses her arms with a huff, but surprises him when she replies, "Yes, Tony. This time we can agree that you may take the bed. Mostly because I do not want to hear you complain tomorrow about your back."

She taps her hand against his cheek lightly, hoping to smack the self-satisfied grin from his face before she crosses the room. "I would like to turn in early tonight, if that is alright. Our flight is scheduled first thing tomorrow and I'm feeling," she hesitates before admitting, "jet-lagged. I am not in the shape I was before," but she stops herself from saying what he anticipates: _last summer_.

"Yeah, sure," he's rubbing his cheek where her hand had been, trying to look wounded in order to mask what he is sure is blatant, the thrill at her touch.

"I am taking the first shower." Her tone is decisive as she jabs, "you always use all the hot water." She pulls her luggage onto the couch, unzipping the suitcase and glancing in his direction before she begins to pull out a faded t-shirt, shorts, and what she tries to conceal but he is sure are a pair of white cotton panties. He swallows hard and looks away, deciding to respect her privacy this once. He makes his way to the bed, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie. He sees her move out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't glance her way until he hears the bathroom door click softly closed.

He drops back on the bed, exhaling slowly and running a hand over his face. He shakes his head at his own discomfort. This is _Ziva_, after all. What hasn't he shared with her at this point? But, that was all before. She was different now. He was different, too. And he couldn't help but feel the need to tread lightly with her. He lost her once, had gone into hell to drag her back. He was sure he wouldn't survive losing her again.

He is alone with his thoughts for several long moments, while he listens to the shower running and the sound of her soft voice singing in what he suspects is Hebrew. Since her return, he's worried, apologized, forgiven. He's given her space, respected the wall she'd built around herself, tried to understand her need to distance while she continued to heal. And then, he is hit with a revelation, a sharp point of clarity. He sits up straight, sobering, trying to ground himself in reality.

He loves her, _still_.

What he had thought lost, what he had thought _died_ was with him all along. His need to be near her, to reach for her, to make her smile, those needs that have felt confusing and uncertain were a part of his awakening. He takes several deep breaths as he feels something loosen in his chest, a tightness he hadn't realized he was laboring under.

His thoughts begin to race. He wants her to show herself to him again. He wants to hold her, feel her warm and alive against him. He wants her mouth and her breath and her laughter. He wants to give her all the tenderness he's capable of; he wants to love her.

He hears the door creak open and wonders idly when the shower had turned off. He turns to face her and she stops before the couch, cocking her head to the side slightly. He was a wild look about him that he doesn't realize, but makes her concerned. Her brows pinch together as he hears her say his name as a question. But, he can't answer. He's lost in the sight of her. She had pulled up her hair in a tight bun before showering, hoping to reduce her time in the morning by avoiding the hair dryer. Her skin is glowing and slightly pink from the warm water, and his eyes skim over the expanse of her legs to the hem of her shorts. His mouth hangs open slightly when he realizes she is wearing a faded and oversized OSU t-shirt.

"Is that my shirt?" he chokes out. She glances down at her chest and smiles sheepishly. He watches as her tongue darts out between her lips before she replies with a quiet _yes_.

"Ziva." His voice is rough and thick. She meets his eyes and is suddenly overwhelmed. She blinks rapidly as hot tears prick the backs of her eyelids. The shirt was on purpose, she admits that much to herself. She knew it would cause a reaction in him. She had kept it all this time, slept in it on occasion, a reminder of their Mexican siesta. She takes a deep, steadying breath as she wills herself to step forward. She crosses the room, coming to a stop in front of him. He's starring at her face, but her eyes are focused on a spot above his shoulder. Her arms are crossed tightly on her waist as she tries to hold herself together. In the time she's been back, her feelings for Tony had grown murkier. She had spent too long trying to hate him, trying to hide her own hurt and bitterness. And then, he was there. _Couldn't live without you, I guess_. He forgave her. She tried to forgive, too. Somewhere along the way, she had reluctantly allowed herself to feel again. She kept him at an arm's length, unable to process her emotions, not wanting to give in. She had loved him once. He found someone else, and then so did she; but both those dalliances were doomed from the beginning, built on lies and deceit.

Now, he is here with her. She wants to ask, _can you love me_? But instead, she runs a hand through his hair and waits for his response.

Tony closes his eyes at her touch, a soft groan escaping his throat. His hand comes up to the back of her knee, stroking lightly with his fingers. She feels weak and utterly vulnerable, but remains still. When he opens his eyes again, she is staring down at him. His hand moves slowly up and down her thigh, relishing the feel of her skin. His other hand reaches for her free one, interlocking their fingers together. She smiles slightly, and he brings her hand to his lips, brushing lightly across her knuckles.

"Come here," he whispers as his hand reaches her waist, pulling her closer. She steps in between his legs, and he rests his head against her stomach, wrapping his arm around her. She continues to run her fingers through his hair and allows him to hold her as several minutes pass, their hands still intertwined.

She brings their hands around to her back, letting her hand fall away as he wraps his other arm around her. He could always sense what she wanted. She cradles his head in her arms as he buries his face further into her stomach. Her hand brushes gently down his neck, scratching lightly at the hair at his nape. He shudders slightly, and she leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

He lifts his head to look at her and in this moment, every conversation that needs to be had is said silently. He pulls at her waist gently, and she takes her cue to straddle his lap. His hands move over her body quickly, one rubbing between her shoulder blades, the other coming up to cup her cheek. She moves closer to him, their noses almost touching. He can feel her warm breath on his face and he lets out a low moan as she whispers, _please_. Their lips meet, and she is as soft and sweet as he remembers. She sucks his bottom lip gently and whimpers when his tongue glides in between her lips. Her hands are on either side of his neck, caressing him softly. When he pulls back needing to take a breath, her mouth moves to his jaw, chin, and a quick nip of his earlobe. He buries his face in her neck for a moment, reveling in her warm presence.

She surprises him when she pulls back and lifts her arms above her head, as if she were a small child. He can't help the grin as he reaches for the bottom of her shirt, pulling it quickly over her head and tossing it to the floor. He runs his hands down her bare sides, as his eyes roam over the exposed caramel skin. There are scars he doesn't remember, some small and others larger. He tries to hide his alarm, reminding himself to tread lightly with her. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to a scar just below her collarbone, and she lets out a low moan. He smiles against her skin as he continues to trail kisses down her body, paying special attention to the swell of her breasts, and the spots he remembers that cause her the most pleasure.

He takes his time with every inch of skin she reveals to him. She in turn undresses him slowly. Loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, running her fingers over his shoulders, chest, and back. She stands as she slips out of her shorts and panties in one swift motion. He does the same, and soon they are standing at the foot of the bed, completely naked. She wraps her arms around his waist tightly, laying her head against his chest. He strokes her back, holding her as close as possible. They stand like this for what feels like hours, content to hold one another.

Eventually, she lifts her head from his chest, and gives him a gentle shove. He sits back down on the bed, as she stands over him. She reaches a hand up and releases her hair from its bun, shaking out her tresses gently. He reaches for her then, strong hands coming up to pull her to him. Her thighs hold him tightly, and his mouth finds hers as she settles against him. He is ready, and so is she. They both let out a groan as he is finally inside her. Neither moves, as they are a tangle of limbs and lips, and she is startled when she realizes he is crying.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding him to her as he sobs. She whispers sweet words of comfort and love in a mix of Hebrew and English, trying her best to soothe him. He manages a garbled, "didn't expect to," and she tenses slightly. Fear grips her as she realizes she may have been asking too much of him, when he breathes out, "find you."

Now is her turn to tear, as she presses kisses to his hairline. "Hush, baby," she whispers gently. "I am here. I am alive."

He chokes through several more sobs, trying to regain his composure. She holds him until he quiets. She lifts his head to press a kiss to his lips, as full of life and love as she can muster. He responds with a sweetness that has her hoping to always know his kiss. He begins to move, slow and even. She meets his rhythm, and lets out a sigh because finally, _finally_ _Tony_.

She cries his name into his shoulder when she comes, and he follows quickly, her name on his lips. They spend their night together, a mess of sweaty limbs and sheets. She knows there is a shift. He feels it, too. What the light of morning will bring, neither is sure. But for the night, they have found their way back. And it feels good to be home.

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Author's Note: I have no idea why I am suddenly struck with T/Z story ideas. I'm still working on **A Mark**, but it's been a struggle. If you are following that story, there will be an update. I just can't seem to get with it! I'm hoping these T/Z one-shots are helping my _SOA_ writer's block! Thanks for reading!


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